


but god i wanna feel again

by hollyhobbit101



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [8]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Hurt TK Strand, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Slightly To The Left Of Canon, Worried Carlos, Worried Firefam, carlos just wants to help tk but tk won't let him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: Carlos blames himself for not noticing. It's not like he had much choice in the matter; he hasn't seen T.K. all week, and his texts have been going unanswered, but he can't help but feel like it's partly his fault.If only T.K. would actually talk about himself, instead of keeping it all in.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes & Paul Strickland (9-1-1 Lone Star), Carlos Reyes & TK Strand, background Carlos/TK
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691701
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	but god i wanna feel again

**Author's Note:**

> Anon: Bad things happen prompt pretty please. Self harm with Tarlos. T.K. hurting himself and Carlos finding out? 
> 
> trigger warning for references to past addiction and cravings, and self-harm. there's no actual self-harm happening within the fic, but it is a pretty big part of it. 
> 
> this is set mid-season when they're sort of in the middle of the will they/won't they schtick. in my head it's just after episode 5 (?) when they take paul to the club.
> 
> title from touch by sleeping at last.

It starts small, as these things tend to. So small, in fact, that Carlos doesn’t even notice at first, though he’ll hate himself for it later.

It’s not his fault, he knows this. It’s not on him to watch out for stuff like this; more to the point, how can he, when they barely see each other outside of work anyway? He still feels guilty though, but for what, exactly, he doesn’t know.

Guilty for not noticing, yes. But also, guilty for making T.K. feel like he can’t talk to him, though Carlos isn’t sure that’s on him, either. They’re in a weird place now, a sort of grey area between friends and...something else, too flirty for it to be nothing, but too distant for it to be something. It’s like, one moment they’re dancing far too close to be normal even in a crowded club, arms wrapped around each other, lips not quite brushing; the next, they don’t talk for three days, the most contact they have a brief nod when they happen to be at the same scene.

It’s confusing, and frustrating, and Carlos sometimes wishes he could just forget about T.K. altogether. At the very least, some clarity would be nice.

Point is, he shouldn’t be responsible for keeping tabs on T.K.’s wellbeing, and he shouldn’t be worrying over him so much, especially when T.K. has made it perfectly clear that it’s the last thing he wants. 

But.

Carlos hasn’t so much as  _ seen  _ T.K. all week, not even in passing. It doesn’t help that he’s been on precious few calls with the 126, but he’s also not received a reply to his text from three nights ago, asking if he wanted to hang out on Friday.

It’s Friday now, and there’s no sign of T.K. at the bar, even though the rest of his team are here. Carlos has half a mind to ask Michelle about him, or maybe even Captain Strand, but the Captain is far too smart not to realise why Carlos is asking about his son, and he’s standing too close to Michelle to make asking her an option.

So he tries to put T.K. from his mind, but it’s not easy, especially with the way Paul is looking at him from across the room. He doesn’t know the other guy all that well; he came out with them last week, but other than that Carlos has only seen him at scenes. 

Which, to be fair, is about as often as he sees T.K. It’s different, though.

Eventually, Paul comes up to him, asking if they can talk outside. That sets off all of Carlos’s alarm bells; they only have one thing in common, and that’s T.K. He follows him out the back, to the benches where everyone goes to smoke, though fortunately they’re empty tonight.

Paul gets straight to it. “You and T.K. are...close, right?”

“We’re friends,” Carlos tells him, though it feels like a lie under the weight of Paul’s gaze.

“He tell you that?” Paul asks, quirking an eyebrow. “‘Cause, man, that’s not what I’m seeing. From either of you.”

“Oh.” And Carlos tries to ignore the flare of...something in his chest at Paul’s words. Hope, maybe, though that’s a dangerous thing where they’re concerned. 

Paul hums and shakes his head. “Anyway, I was only asking ‘cause I was wondering if you’ve seen him lately.”

“Barely,” he says, worry bleeding into his tone. “Not at all this week. Why?”

“It’s just…” Paul shakes his head. “He’s not acting right. Distant. Reckless. And - I know” - he holds a finger up - “that’s just how T.K. is. Trust me. Something’s up, but you know how he is. He won’t talk to us. I mean, I barely know the guy and I’ve been working with him for months now.”

Carlos hums in agreement. Paul’s right; that’s  _ exactly  _ how T.K. is, and it suddenly strikes him again how little they really know each other. How he had to find out almost everything he knows from a goddamn police report. How he shouldn’t be feeling this way for someone who refuses to let himself be cared for. 

Someone who refuses to take care of himself, above all else, and Carlos is sickened by the memory of the night of the bar fight. He’d seen the guys T.K. had provoked; fit as he may be, T.K. must have known he couldn’t have fought them off.

He sighs, chewing on his bottom lip. He’s worried, he won’t deny that, and he can’t just do nothing. His own feelings aside, Paul clearly told him for a reason. 

“Do you know where he lives?” This is a phenomenally bad idea, and even Paul looks taken aback by the question, but it’s the only thing Carlos can think of besides more texts. 

“Sure, but… Are you sure man?” Paul asks. “I can go, if...”

Carlos waves him off. “I was leaving soon anyway.” Not quite the truth, but Paul doesn’t need to know that.

“Alright.” Paul scribbles the address down on a stray napkin and throws Carlos a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

* * *

It’s not until Carlos is stood outside the Strand residence, poised to knock, that he actually realises just how stupid this is. T.K. probably doesn’t even want to see him, if the texts - or lack thereof - are any indication. Besides, he doesn’t even know if anyone’s in. He should probably just leave, except, well, he promised Paul. 

Before he can make up his mind, the door swings open, taking him by surprise. T.K. is stood there, an equal mix of confusion and annoyance on his face. 

“Hey,” Carlos tries. T.K. just stares at him, before eventually sighing and shifting to the side.

“Come in, I guess.”

And  _ that _ surprises him. Not that he’d really expected anything, but he’d kind of assumed that T.K. would prefer to talk on the doorstep, if he wanted to talk at all. Carlos had put his odds of getting more than two words out of T.K. about his well being somewhere around zero.

He tries to disguise his curiosity as he enters, but he can’t stop himself from staring. The place is nice, certainly nicer than Carlos’s own - though he supposes that this is what a captain’s salary looks like. Or what happens when there’s multiple paychecks under one roof.

T.K. slips past him and Carlos follows him through to the front room, where they stand, facing each other awkwardly. 

“Um.” T.K. swallows. “You can, you know. Have a seat. If you want.”

Carlos moves to the couch, only to stop short when T.K. remains in place, watching him like a cornered animal. 

“I can leave if you want,” he offers.

T.K. swallows again, then shakes his head, finally moving to sit. “No, it’s okay.”

“Okay.” Carlos sits at the same time T.K. does - a compromise, of sorts. An uncomfortable silence falls across them, and Carlos berates himself for not coming here with some sort of plan. Despite the progress they’ve made recently, he’s still treading on eggshells around T.K., never sure how he’s supposed to act around him - how they’re supposed to act around each other. 

“Paul gave me your address,” he starts. T.K. looks at him sharply, confusion written all over his face - though what he’d assumed before, Carlos doesn’t know. Maybe that he’d stolen his address from the police report, and the thought disturbs him.

“Why?” T.K. asks, though it’s more like a demand. He has to tread carefully here, then.

“He’s worried about you.” Carlos decides to leave out his own feelings on the matter; he has a suspicion that T.K. will clam up if he so much as hints at his concern.

“Well, you can tell him that I’m fine.”

Carlos waits, but T.K.’s apparently done talking. He sighs. “You do realise I’ll need a little more to be convinced about that.”

“Of course you do,  _ Officer _ ,” T.K. says, pouting, but there’s no hint of a flirtation. He’s angry, Carlos realises. Hurting. He watches patiently as T.K. fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, shoving them up to his elbows only immediately to pull them back down.

“I -” Carlos stops, his eyes fixed on T.K.’s arm. His sleeves are pushed up, exposing scar tissue littering his skin, some from years ago, some very obviously recent.

Before he can think of anything to say, T.K. shoves his sleeve back down and stands up, hands bunched into fists at his side.

“You should go,” he says, but Carlos shakes his head, staying on the couch.

“T.K. -”

“Please leave.”

“I can’t do that, T.K.”

T.K. glares at him. “ _ God _ , you’re such a fucking police officer, aren’t you?” he spits. “Back off!”

Carlos doesn’t say anything; he knows he’ll only make it worse if he does. He has had to do this sort of thing as part of his job and, even if this situation is entirely different, the principles are still the same. After a while, all the fights seems to leave T.K., and he slumps back down on the couch, studiously avoiding Carlos’s gaze.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, looking so small as he hunches in on himself. 

Carlos purses his lips. For all his training, he doesn’t have a fucking clue where to go from here. The last thing he wants is to push T.K. away further, but he can’t just let this lie. 

“Okay,” he says eventually. “But, T.K., even if you don’t want to talk to me, you have to talk to someone. Your dad, or a therapist, or -”

“I do,” T.K. cuts in, shooting him a harsh glance. Then, looking away, “I do. It’s just - hard, you know? To ignore all the…” He taps a finger to his head. “You know.”

Carlos stays silent. In truth, he kind of doesn’t know; he’s been lucky in that regard. But he understands what T.K. means, and his traitorous heart breaks a little bit more for him. 

“And, you were right,” T.K. continues. “The night of the bar fight. It was dumb to go there. But, I just. I just need to feel, you know? Anything. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

Carlos takes a breath, but T.K. interrupts before he can say anyway. “And it helps. With the - With the cravings, when I want to, um, relapse. Again.”

There’s a pause, and Carlos waits, but T.K.’s done this time, closing his eyes and curling his body as far away from Carlos as he can, as though bracing for an attack. The sight hurts, a little, though Carlos isn’t sure exactly why.

“Look, I…” He sighs. “This isn’t okay, T.K. And it’s not like I want you to start more bar fights, or any other...alternative, but you can’t keep going like this. I want to help you, T.K., but you have to let me.”

It takes a seemingly Herculean effort for T.K. to shift his gaze over to Carlos, only for it to dart away immediately, refocusing on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, almost too quiet for Carlos to hear. “I shouldn’t - This isn’t - You don’t have to be here.”

“I want to be,” Carlos says, and T.K. does look at him then. His eyes are surprised, and more than a little wary, but there’s something else there, too, something softer - and, oh  _ fuck _ , Carlos has to stop this  _ right now _ .

“T.K. -”

He’s interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into a driveway. It’s not T.K.’s house’s, but it’s enough to break the moment, T.K. practically jumping out of his skin in an effort to put more distance between them. Carlos breathes out a sigh of relief; much as he likes being near T.K., this is not the time to be trying to...further their relationship. 

“My dad’ll be back soon,” T.K. says, going back to avoiding Carlos’s gaze. “You should probably go.”

It stings a little, that T.K. apparently doesn’t want Captain Strand to know that they even know each other outside of work - not even as friends. But Carlos gets it, he thinks. He stands, but doesn’t move away.

T.K. smiles, sort of. “I’m seeing my therapist tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll talk to her about...you know. And I’ll try, I promise. To stop.”

Carlos nods, attempting to smile back. “That’s good. And, T.K. - I am your friend. I want to help you. And so does your team.”

Carlos doesn’t miss the way T.K. stiffens at his words, but he decides to let that one slide. One step at a time.

“Thanks for coming.” 

And just like that, the earlier awkwardness is back. Carlos grimaces, but nods. “Yeah. No worries,” he says, wincing internally. “I’ll see you soon.”

He lets himself out, taking a moment to stand outside the house and breathe. He feels so goddamn helpless, and it’s getting harder to keep the guilt at bay, even though he knows there’s no reason for it. He wants to help T.K., he truly does, but he doesn’t know how. Not now, not when T.K. seems so determined to keep him at arm’s length. 

He spares one last glance back at the house as he drives away, unable to shake the feeling that he’s making a mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me/prompt me over on tumblr @morganaspendragonss!


End file.
